


Endless Horizon

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Avalon - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28783494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Imagine Freya and Arthur in Avalon.Imagine the Lady of the Lake and the Once and Future King in a forgotten land, growing closer with every piece of themselves shed in the vulnerability of a plane existing where life and death are but whimsical definitions.Camelove 2021 - Day 6: Always By Your Side
Relationships: Freya & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Freya/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Freya/Merlin (Merlin), Freya/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 5
Collections: Anonymous, Camelove 2021





	Endless Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Was I so anxious in writing this drabble that I had three of my friends check it through? Maybe. (Thank you so much for your help. I couldn't have done it without you 🥺)

Let's imagine Freya in Avalon.

Imagine Freya watching over Merlin with the same dedication Merlin watches over Arthur.

magine her hearing Arthur's first steps into a limbo where neither the truly dead nor truly living can stay, witnessing in silence as the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth clutches the hope he had been promised and shout  \-  with the certainty of a thousand lifetimes’ worth of love and loyalty and sacrifice  - that he cannot sacrifice this to destiny. Not this. Never this.

(But there is always sacrifice - the life of the Once and Future King for the unification of Albion. They will understand this later, as they see the tales of Arthur Pendragon and the Battle of Camlann spread farther than the land on which he was born. To Caerleon, to Nemeth, to the stone castles of the Saxons, across miles of earth and sea until he is no longer a story owned by Camelot, but by kingdoms united through their admiration of his rule).

Imagine that the first words Freya says to Arthur are, "You never deserved him."

Imagine pain flashing across Arthur's face before he admits, with a guilt-ridden breath, "I know."

Imagine them standing side by side as they watch Normans conquering the homeland of the Once and Future King, the waters of Avalon receding as the last remnants of magic are lost to the world, flowing into the veins of a human ghost haunting a land that is not his own.

Imagine Freya hating Arthur Pendragon for being the source of Merlin's centuries of suffering.

Imagine them sitting by a bonfire, exchanging stories about the man they both love; about the woman Arthur loves; about mountains and lakes and citadels and castles; lost friends and families they hope to join but cannot because both swore to love the man who saved them in their last moments. 

Imagine her planning to tell the story of a cursed druid girl who died at the hands of a prince, knowing intimately the pain of guilt; knows how it cuts like a sword wound and burns you inside-out for what feels like eternity.

Imagine her, then, listening to Arthur's wavering voice as he recounts the tale of a sister lost to the battle of magic.

"I could have saved her," he whispers, and Freya is suddenly by the lake again with a boy begging her to say that she could be saved, loving her despite the invisible bloodstains on her hands, despite her selfishness in wanting to keep his love when the cost of it was betraying his trust. (She wanted to tell him -- tried to -- but by the end, she did not want hatred to be the last memory she had of him before she left).  


And then she's back in Avalon, sometime in an arbitrary past, watching a sorcerer confess his magic to a king; watching that king move from fear, to disapproval, to guilt, to fondness in a matter of days. She hears the words  _ I want you to always be you. _ Watches, now, the man beside her as he looks into the embers of a dying fire, promising to himself that he will correct every single mistake he has made, because a destiny fulfilled does not necessarily mean a life well lived.

Imagine Freya slowly seeing the man that Merlin had fallen in love with, and deciding that she, too, will have secrets to keep.

Imagine the Lady of the Lake and the Once and Future King in a forgotten land, watching as the world writes stories about a life that seem so distant, growing closer with every piece of themselves shed in the vulnerability of a plane existing where life and death are but whimsical definitions. Imagine them holding each other when ghosts of the living come back to haunt them, when guilt overcomes their senses and leaves them hoping to return sooner, sooner,  _ now _ , and make everything right.

Imagine that day finally comes.

Imagine Freya and Arthur standing in front of a large sphere of light, through it the image of a world they know and do not know of at the same time.

Imagine Arthur taking her hand and looking at her with a happiness worth a thousand suns.

Imagine Freya realising, then, with sudden clarity, that the prince who stole her happy ending in another life has given it back to her with whispered conversations and silent smiles and small caresses over an uncountable amount of time.

Imagine Freya realising that she loves Arthur.

Imagine Freya reading, in the fondness of Arthur's eyes she has come to know so well, that he may feel the same way.

Imagine Freya deciding that she will not make the men she loves choose between her and each other, that she will accept that her story is not written in the scrolls of destiny reserved for Merlin and Arthur.

Imagine that in response to the thought she has not even spoken out loud, the Once and Future King says, "Forget destiny for a moment."

And Freya smiles. Small and indulgent and fond. "I won't make him choose."

"He won't," he says. "It doesn't have to be a choice."

Imagine Arthur taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

Imagine him whispering, "Stay with me," and, "Please?"

Imagine Freya deciding that perhaps destiny is what you make it to be, made of choices as numerous as blades of grass stretching into an endless horizon, and that right now, there is none to be made at all.


End file.
